To Be Hamlet's Friend Is A Crime Beyond Reason
by Arsenic Yeet
Summary: A high school modern AU narrated by Horatio. Upon the death of his father, Hamlet entrusts both Horatio and Ophelia to help him get to the bottom of the case, no matter the cost. (HamletxHoratio themes, as well as HamletxOphelia. We stan an OT3)
1. Chapter 1

If someone were to ask me what I would be doing on my eighteenth birthday just a two weeks earlier, I would have perhaps said I would be with my family, or my friends, or alone and scrolling through my phone, waiting for the excitement of being an adult to truly hit. I could have seen myself laying on the roof with my two closest friends, telling stories and laughing. If someone had told me I would spend that day in the hospital, I may have believed you, but the rest of this story would have seemed to insane to comprehend.  
But then again, that's just life when you're friends with Hamlet.  
I was the last of us to turn 18. Ophelia was ahead of us both, as always. I swear, she's always been perfect in every way. At the beginning of the school year, she was waiting for us outside our dorm, two cups of coffee and a cup of tea, flowers in her hair and a smile on her face. Technically, she wasn't allowed into the boy's dorm building, but being a member of the student council, a helping hand to every teacher, and a consistent honor role student, the staff often let little things like morning rituals pass.  
Hamlet was next, near the beginning of the second quarter. He wore a gold paper crown and a grin that day, and once again I was the one that ended up doing his work for him. His cocky nature and natural smile kept him on the constant edge of trouble, never quite crossing over to be at risk of detention. He and Ophelia celebrated that nigh with a date. I knew better than to wait up for him.  
But then it was my turn. Just two weeks left, and I'd be an adult, although Hamlet had often reminded me that time didn't really matter. It mattered in his birthday, but I wouldn't say that. It was also here, at two weeks before my birthday, that he awoke me at two thirty-one on Sunday morning with a wild look in his eyes.  
"There's been a murder!" he whispered. His hands were cold on my shoulders, pale skin reflecting the moonlight. I could easily have mistaken him for a ghost, were I not so sure they didn't exist.  
"What? Hamie it's late-" I tried to explain, but he wouldn't hear it.  
"There's been a murder," he repeated, "my father told me!" I glanced at my clock. Two thirty-one. His wild dark eyes reflected the red numeric glow.  
"Hamlet. Go o back to sleep, you were dreaming-"  
"My father is missing. He's been murdered." His cold fingers dug into my shoulders, and I wished I had worn a shirt to bed. I sighed, sat up, and pushed him to sit proper on my bed.  
"Okay, you're not going back to sleep yet, are you?" It was silly to ask, but I always asked. If I didn't, he would sulk.  
"My father is missing. He's not returning my calls."  
"Oh dear lord- Hamie it's two in the morning, of course he's not!"  
"He usually does."  
"Hamlet."  
"And he didn't earlier- I went to the office and it was my stupid uncle!"  
"Not so loud!"  
Hamlet huffed, pulling away from me to dug dull fingernails into his arms and cast glances at the ground. He had never liked his uncle, his father was his hero. It was a pity they ran the school just like that, he deflated. His body sank down, cold and pale as death. Like any friend would, I pulled him close, let him under the covers and into my arms. Nightmares were not infrequent for him, why would I believe this was anything else? So that morning, all I did was pull him close, tuck him in, and stay by his side. Had I known the heavy truth of it all, I would have gone to the police, or insisted he fled. Looking back seems silly, but it's the past that remains clear while the future always remains blurred.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking back, it all happened so fast. During the event itself, it felt like an eternity. That eternity began when I was awoken that morning.  
I always enjoyed seeing him in the morning light. Fiery red hair reflected the sunlight well, and the warm glow let him look alive, his freckles scattered like the dust in the air. I usually loved him like this, sleepy and smiling, adorned in a stollen set of clothes- my nice pajama pants and Ophelia's long lost Indigo Girls crop top. It was a sight like a modern renaissance painting. The chaos of it all, the unity, the beauty. That morning was different.  
"Horatio." He hardly ever used my name alone. The sun had hidden from him that day, allowing only grey light to dull his vibrant image.  
"What's wrong?" I had asked. Had I been more awake, perhaps I would have remembered our early conversation. However, I had not remembered, and that was a mistake.  
"My father is dead. Ophelia told me." Had his voice not been so cold, I doubt I would have believed him. But his eyes were empty. His already pale skin had lost any remaining color. It hurt to see.  
"Ophelia?" Again, I look back and see stupidity. I was simply echoing his words as he sat in pained shock. He said nothing, simply stared ahead.  
To go on in detail about the remains of that day would be a waste of words. To put it simply, he hurt. He lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Ophelia joined me later, sympathy and stress behind her bright eyes. She explained in a hushed tone over tea and coffee that the body had been found that morning, laying cold on the courtyard.  
"It's not official," she had said, "but Hamlet called me last night, just an hour past midnight. He said it had happened, and I saw the body. They showed it for a moment on the news."  
That they had, and despite how much I didn't want to look, I took the phone from her hand. His figure was clear, unmarred and cold. I had spoken to him many times before, assisted him in the halls, and had once even had dinner in his home. He was a kind man, intelligent. I looked away.  
Hamlet was so quiet that day. Ophelia and I joined the silence, unsure of what else we could do. It was when he spoke again that this story truly began to fall apart.  
"I want to go on a walk." An innocent enough request. Of course we agreed, he should get out, breathe open air rather than locking himself up.  
We walked with him. Ophelia wrapped her arm around his, and I kept my fair pace ahead. Ophelia could nearly always calm the chaos that was Hamlet, while my every plea for him to slow down was only fuel to his fire. I'd like to say this is why I often stayed away from the couple despite the both being dear friends, but it was more than that. It stood on level with welcoming him under my sheets as a friend. A true, loyal friend.  
"I have an announcement to make," he had said. I turned to face him and found a faint light returning to his eyes.  
"I know who killed my father, because last night, he told me."


End file.
